


What Was His Is Now Mine

by BananaChef



Series: Short and Sweet [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Canonical Character Death, Crying, F/M, Lots of it, Memories, Mourning, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Canon, but yeah, fuck season 8 for giving me the opportunity to write this, he's dead, i didn't put it in the usual warning, since jaime doesn't literally die in the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26160979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/pseuds/BananaChef
Summary: It hurts. Of course it does—how could it not?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Short and Sweet [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899604
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	What Was His Is Now Mine

It hurts. Of course it does—how could it not? It’s _his_ bed and _his_ room decorated with _his_ furniture. For a moment Brienne envisions herself tearing it all down and redoing it; maybe she could paint the Lord Commander’s rooms rose and azure—Tarth colors. She could change the sheets of the bed and just _change_ all of it—get rid of _every single reminder_ of the man who occupied the room before her.

She grips the hilt of Oathkeeper in her hand and remembers that she’s wearing armor befitting the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (not the blue armor ~~Jaime~~ he gave her) and that the sheath is different, too, along with the hilt (not Lannister anymore—Tarth, only Tarth).

“A new sheath for a new position,” King Brandon told her, as if he knew she needed to replace the old with something new to help with the heartache.

Brienne slowly takes off every bit of her armor, placing it on the armor stand (it should be blue, not golden, her heart says) along with her white cloak. It feels as though she soiled the armor stand, and she can’t take the squeezing her heart does just then so she turns to the bathhouse and enters the steam-filled room. ( _Half a corpse, half a god,_ she remembers, and can’t tell if the water running down her face are tears or condensed steam.)

The servants filled the tub with hot water not five minutes ago (she almost hates baths now); she climbs into the scalding water, not caring that her skin will be red and splotchy when she’s done. Brienne’s chest is tight as she takes a deep breath in...and out.

Her throat constricts, her next breath in and out more of a wheeze as she tries to hold back the tears, but they come unbidden anyways. Brienne draws her legs close to her chest ( _hide away,_ she remembers, _he shouldn’t see me_ ) and wraps her arms around them, holding herself close as the tears spill and spill and spill—she’s a sobbing mess.

“Stop crying, girl,” Septa Roelle would say. “What did you think would happen? That the most handsome bachelor in the seven kingdoms would want _you_?”

Suddenly Brienne is _angry_ and sits up to grab something—anything—that can help her wash away ~~Jaime’s~~ his mark on her. (She stood up angrily at Harrenhal, she remembers.) As quickly as it came, her anger is replaced by fatigue. Her arms feel weak as she gingerly grabs a brush and starts to scrub. _Wash him away, wash him away, wash him away, wash him away—_

Brienne realizes she’s crying again and that her vision is blurred by her constant flow of tears, but she doesn’t stop scrubbing until her arms and legs and chest and stomach are pink. By then, she’s sobbing, and curls in on herself against one side of the tub.

“Be brave,” her father said once. “Be brave and come home to me. You’re all that I have left.” (She can’t go home, Lord Commanders serve for life. Maybe Bran knew she would never be satisfied in the life that awaited her on Tarth. The one without ~~Jaime~~ him.)

When Brienne finally stops crying and pulls herself together to get out of the tub, it’s dark outside and the water’s gone cold. She doesn’t remember when it went cold, or how long she was in there. She dries herself, slips on a tunic and trousers (she wore that when ~~Jaime~~ he came to visit the first time they slept together, she remembers), and walks over to the bed.

~~Jaime’s bed.~~ Her bed. She’s too tired to think—too tired to cry, even, and she doesn’t believe she could if she wanted to. Brienne suddenly realizes that she’s on her side of the bed while ~~Jaime’s~~ he’s not on his side. She was wrong, she can cry, because hot tears are pricking at her eyes as she cries herself to sleep again. It all hurts. Of course it does—how could it not?


End file.
